


First

by quartetship



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"People ask me why I don't just leave. Why does he always have to come first?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	First

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my soft spot for the McCormick family, and by the real-life situation a friend of mine spoke to me about. 
> 
> (No pairings, other than Kenny's parents.)

People ask me why I don’t just leave. They say I should get out, for my own sake, and the sake of my kids. Every time I don’t, the questions start. _What are you thinking? Why won’t you listen? Why does he always come first?_ The truth is, Stuart has always been first. _My_ first. There’s nothing I can do to change that now.

I was barely past twelve when I met him. He was a lot older, and good-looking and damn it if he couldn’t talk his way outta anything. Or into anything. That’s how it started with us. Nobody had ever made me feel so special, but then again - when you’re thirteen, there hasn’t been time for a whole lot of people to even _look_ at you. But he sure did; he looked at me like I was the sexiest, most gorgeous _woman_ on the planet, and that’s exactly what a little girl like me had wanted.

I got pregnant the first time we had sex. He panicked, and I was just numb. A week before that, I’d thought he loved me. But there’s nothing like two pink lines to show you what someone’s made of, I guess. I should’ve gotten out then. I should’ve had an abortion, or considered adoption, or something other than begging his worthless ass to stay with me. But he was my first, and at the time all I could think about were the dreams I’d had as a little girl of a home and a real family with someone. Too bad my someone ended up being _him_.

We got married as soon as I turned sixteen. My mom was quick to sign the papers, and his parents just seemed happy about the thought of him having a wife to take care of him and put up with his shit. When I got pregnant again two months later, he got a job and stopped drinking for a bit, and I thought I finally had what I wanted. Until the first time he came home drunk and angry.

I begged him to think about the baby on the way, and about our little boy sleeping in the other room, but it did nothing to keep him from hitting me. I was so shocked; I should’ve called the police or my mother or _someone_. Instead, I made him dinner in the hopes that it would calm him down, and ended up eating alone - in tears - as I watched him sleep off his rage on the couch. I let it slide, because it was only once. I had no idea then that it was only the _first_ time.

By the time most of my old high school classmates were graduating from college and landing great jobs and healthy marriages, I was a burnt out housewife with a nasty drug problem, three hungry babies, and a husband that beat the shit out of me on a regular basis. To say that I was miserable would be an understatement; I tried to kill myself one evening when I thought the kids were all asleep. My saving grace that night was my youngest son; he ended up walking into the bathroom right as I was about to do it, and looking at his sweet face, I just couldn’t. I could see Stuart in him, and for whatever reason it made me think maybe life with him wasn’t so bad.

That’s what always stuck us together, in the end. He had never done much for me, but he gave me my babies. My two little boys and my sweet baby girl - and any one of them alone is worth more than ten of him. There’s been more than a few occasions that I’ve heard Kevin - my oldest - fighting with his daddy over hitting me. My other son, Kenny is my little hero. He’s scooped me right outta the floor before when I’d be in the kitchen, crying over whatever Stuart had done that day. He and Karen, my baby girl are tpod peas in a pod, and for that I’m grateful. Those two would sit with me for hours some nights, waiting for their daddy to come back. The three of us, telling stories, braiding my baby’s hair, playing with her dolls or just talking. I have three little angels, even if living with their daddy and I has damaged their halos a little. I always remind people that Stuart and I made those babies. I just hope those angels can spread their wings one day and get the hell away from this, away from _me_ , even though it hurts me to think about.

Maybe _then_ I’ll be able to get out. Maybe when my babies fly out the door, I can run out behind them. But I don’t see it happening until then. A few years ago, I started fighting back, when I should’ve just walked away. I might be a shitty mom, but I’ve tried everything to keep my family together. I almost lost my kids last year, and I never wanna hear my baby girl cry like that again. I hate that her brother has to be strong for her, because I can’t. I hate that my oldest boy is more and more like his asshole father every day, and I can’t stop it. I hate that this is the life I chose, and keep choosing. My kids are damned because I am weak. But to say that part of me doesn’t still see my husband as that sweet, smooth-talking guy I met in junior high would be lying. So would me saying I don’t love him.

I sit here in the same shirt I wore yesterday, smoking my last cigarette and choking on that one fact. I know Stuart is toxic, but I think I am too. I hate him, more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything, but I think it’s because I hate myself for becoming so much like him. I hate what he does to me, in every sense of the word. I know that no matter how good my intentions are, he will always drag me down with him. He always has, and I can’t change our past. He will always be my first. He will always come first.


End file.
